


"& girls, they wanna have fun"

by talkwordytome



Series: CAOS pre-canon kid!fics & family!fics [4]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Family, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Funny, Gen, Light Angst, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:20:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23333005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkwordytome/pseuds/talkwordytome
Summary: “And besides, you won’t be alone: Sabrina will be here!”“That is my primary point of concern,” Zelda said, rushing after Hilda, her heels clicking frantically on the wooden floorboards. “Hildy,” she said, her voice as close to pleading as her personality allowed, “I haven’t spent more than 30 minutes alone with that little girl since we took her in. How am I supposed to care for her on my own for an entire weekend?”or: in which Zelda & Sabrina have a girls' weekend together
Relationships: Hilda Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Sabrina Spellman & Zelda Spellman
Series: CAOS pre-canon kid!fics & family!fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676038
Comments: 16
Kudos: 70
Collections: CAOS pre-canon kid!fics & family!fics





	"& girls, they wanna have fun"

**Author's Note:**

> This fic DEFINITELY edges into sappy territory, but it was v v v fun to write so I really can't bring myself to care, y'all.
> 
> I wanted to show Zelda's nurturing, maternal, & silly sides without overdoing it & making her characterization unrealistic, so hopefully I struck that balance!
> 
> My usual shout-out to csiscullyjanewaygay for being my brilliant beta reader & my even more wonderful girlfriend!
> 
> Title comes from the song "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" by Cyndi Lauper. 
> 
> I own neither CAOS nor its characters!

**April 2009**

“Which dress do you like more, Zelds? The light green one, or the pink?”

“You’re abandoning me, sister. You’re leaving me here to perish.”

“I’m more partial to the celery green as a color, but the pink one does have such a lovely fluted skirt—”

“You’re not even listening to me,” Zelda said, pacing feverishly back and forth across their bedroom. “You _can’t_ go, not when Ambrose is also gone for the weekend—”

“Zelda, you and I both know that he can’t miss his parole hearing,” Hilda said absently, looking through her shoes. “He only gets one every ten years, and the poor sweet deserves a chance to appeal his sentence.”

“But _you_ could stay,” Zelda said petulantly.

“No, I couldn’t,” Hilda said, smiling slightly. “I’m not skipping Ariadne’s wedding, hen. She and Gideon have been engaged for over a century.” She closed her suitcase with a decisive snap. “And besides, you won’t be alone: Sabrina will be here!”

“That is my primary point of concern,” Zelda said, rushing after Hilda, her heels clicking frantically on the wooden floorboards. “Hildy,” she said, her voice as close to pleading as her personality allowed, “I haven’t spent more than 30 minutes alone with that little girl since we took her in. How am I supposed to care for her on my own for an entire _weekend_?”

“You take care of her every _day_ , love!” Hilda said. Still unable to make a decision re: dresses, she magically enlarged her suitcase just a bit more and shoved both inside. 

“Not by myself!” Zelda said shrilly. “What if she throws a tantrum, or falls ill, or won’t go to bed when she’s told to, or creates any number of those other little disasters, real and imagined, that she is so prone to?”

“Then you’ll handle it, Zelds,” Hilda said calmly. “And besides, I’m not leaving you high and dry; I did prepare a few things.” She walked to the kitchen, Zelda following anxiously behind. 

“This paper has everything you could possibly need to know,” Hilda explained patiently. “A schedule of things like bedtime and bathtime, Sabrina’s favorite games and toys and lullabies, emergency phone numbers, and the like. There’s boxed macaroni and cheese in the pantry; you could do that with cut up hotdogs for dinner one of the nights I’m gone. I also got a couple of easy frozen things, and all she ever wants for her sack lunch is a pb&j and applesauce, which you’ll only have to pack Monday morning. There’s fresh fruit or vegetable crisps for snacks, and fudgsicles for dessert, plus cereal for breakfast. You shouldn’t have to cook at all if you don’t feel like it.”

“I assure you that I will _not_ feel like it.”

“Greendale Elementary lets out at 3:30 sharp,” Hilda continued as though she hadn’t been interrupted, “and it worries her if someone isn’t waiting for her as soon as she’s outside, so get there a bit early if you can. Oh, and she’s getting over that ear infection, remember, so you’ll need to give her the drops twice a day; I usually do it first thing in the morning and right before she goes to sleep. She’s going to put up a big noisy fuss about it, so I usually bribe her with an extra bit of chocolate if she’s a good girl and doesn’t wiggle too much. Any questions?”

Zelda stared at Hilda, eyes dazed and bewildered. “Zelds?” Hilda prompted gently. “Does all of that make sense? I have to leave in the next 15 minutes, so if you need me to clarify something—”

“I’m fine, sister,” Zelda said sharply, recovering herself somewhat. “I’ll be fine. After all, like you said, I take care of Sabrina every day.” She sighed through her nose and tried to smile. “How hard could it possibly be?”

~~~

The weak April sun shone down on Zelda Spellman as she rushed to Greendale Elementary. To soothe herself following Hilda’s departure, Zelda had lost herself in research, her favorite tried-and-true remedy for any kind of anxiety. Unfortunately, it worked a little too well; hours passed without Zelda checking the clock, and suddenly it was 3:20. In her haste to leave she’d neglected to grab her coat, and now she shivered as the leftover winter winds blew through her skirts. When one of her heeled boots got caught in a sidewalk divot as she ran, she tripped and fell. She got up and dusted herself off self-consciously, very aware of the small run in her stockings. She hadn’t done something so clumsy since she was a little girl centuries ago; clearly the everyday morays of the mortal world didn’t agree with her.

She arrived at Greendale Elementary at 3:38, a bit breathless and limping slightly from her skinned knee, but not as late as she’d feared she’d be. There were still children milling about—running through the playground, chatting with their friends, playing chase under the enormous elm tree—and Zelda squinted as she tried to identify Sabrina in the crowd. She finally caught sight of a familiar little blonde figure, sitting alone and rather forlorn on a wooden bench.

“Sabrina,” Zelda called, waving to her. The six-year-old stood, sniffling back tears, and walked obediently over to her aunt.

“You’re late,” Sabrina said, her most pathetic pout fixed firmly in place. “You’re not s’posed to be late. Auntie Hilda is _never_ late.”

“I’m aware; thank you, Sabrina,” Zelda snapped, immediately softening when that triggered a loud sob. “I got caught up doing something else and lost track of time and…” her voice trailed off as she looked down at Sabrina, who looked suddenly much smaller than usual. “I’m very sorry, Sabrina.”

“‘S’okay,” Sabrina sighed, wiping her eyes and then her nose on the cuff of her sweater. Zelda blushed when she realized she didn’t have any tissues to offer her, then remembered that she was probably meant to give Sabrina a hug. She opened her arms with only a bit of awkwardness, and Sabrina nestled herself inside of them happily.

“Did you have a nice day at school?” Zelda asked, hoping this was the correct question. Hilda’s list hadn’t included recommended conversation topics. She’d checked, several times.

“ _Yes_ ,” Sabrina said, her hurt feelings already forgiven and forgotten. “I got to use the play kitchen with Susie during center time, and I was the mommy and she was the dog and Harvey was the daddy, and we read about butterflies in my reading group, and so then in art I painted a _picture_ of a butterfly, and the teacher said she liked it, and—”

On and on and on it went; Zelda had no idea if she was supposed to say anything beyond the occasional “mhmm” or “oh really?” Sabrina didn’t give her many opportunities to contribute anyway. _How the heaven does Hilda do this every day?_ Zelda thought, already exhausted by the incessant chattering.

“—and guess _what_ , Auntie!”

“Mmm?” Zelda said, rejoining the not-quite conversation at precisely the wrong time. “What?”  


“No, you have to _guess_ ,” Sabrina said.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Zelda said truthfully.

“Well, we traded scooters and Harvey wasn’t mad anymore because he got a boy color,” Sabrina said.

“Fascinating,” Zelda said. “Surely he would not have survived one more second with a feminine-colored scooter.” Sabrina, not yet old enough to detect sarcasm, nodded cheerfully.

“Auntie Hilda said that we’re gonna have a girls’ weekend,” Sabrina said as they wound their way down their home’s muddy drive. “She said that we’re gonna _bond_ with each other, ‘cept I didn’t know what that meant, so I asked, and she said know each other more. But that’s silly, ‘cause we already know each other.”

“After this weekend, Sabrina,” Zelda said, hoping she didn’t sound too grim, “I imagine we’ll know each other better than ever before.”

~~~

“You’re doing it wrong, Auntie Zee.”

“It’s boxed, processed macaroni and cheese, Sabrina,” Zelda said. “Where exactly is the margin for error?”

“It is too wrong,” Sabrina said stubbornly. “Auntie Hilda always puts in butter and a little extra milk ‘cause it makes the cheese taste yummier.”

“That’s not what the box says to do,” Zelda said, equally stubborn.

“But it’s what Auntie _Hilda_ does, and it makes—”

“Fine!” Zelda said. “Fine.” She went to the fridge and got a cube of butter and dropped it into the pot, along with a generous splash of milk. “Is that satisfactory?”

“That’s kind of a lot of milk—but it’s fine,” Sabrina hastily amended when Zelda glared at her. “Did you make the hotdogs?”

“Oh hells, I knew I forgot something,” Zelda said, running a hand through her hair. “Can’t you have the macaroni and cheese by itself?” Sabrina’s answering pout told her everything she needed to know.

20 minutes, three burned hotdogs, a bit of crying (not all of it by Sabrina), and one activated smoke alarm later, dinner was finally served. For all of Sabrina’s complaints about being starving to death she didn’t seem too eager to actually eat; she pushed her macaroni around and cut her hotdogs into incrementally smaller pieces without taking a single bite.

“Sabrina?” Zelda said, trying in vain to keep the dueling emotions of exasperation and worry out of her voice. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you eating? Are you sick?” She reached across the kitchen table to feel her forehead, and found it cool.

“I feel fine, Auntie Zelda,” Sabrina said, glowering at her plate.

“Then why aren’t you _eating_?”

“Because it tastes yucky,” Sabrina muttered. “The cheese is weird and watery, and the noodles are sticky and not hot anymore. You did it all wrong because you don’t _listen_.”

“Watch your tone, young lady,” Zelda warned. “If you’re truly not ill, you’ll need to eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

“It’s _already_ cold,” Sabrina said, voice raised. “And the outside of the hotdogs is all burned.”

“Then go to bed hungry,” Zelda retorted sharply. She grabbed Sabrina’s plate and tossed what was left down the drain. “Go to your room.”

“That’s not fair! It’s not even dark yet!”

“Go,” Zelda hissed, “to your _room_.”

Sabrina stood so quickly that her chair clattered backwards. Angry red splotches of color rose in her cheeks and her lip quivered. “You’re _mean_ ,” she said with great feeling. “You’re _mean_ and I _hate_ you and—and—I wish Auntie Hilda were here!” With that, she burst into noisy sobs and ran upstairs to her room, slamming the door behind her.

~~~

“Hildy?”

“Zelds? Why are you calling the hotel? Was there an emergency? Is it Sabrina? Is she hurt?”

“Sabrina is fine, Hildy.”

“Then why are you crying, love?” Hilda’s voice, warm and reassuring even over the phone from 300 miles away, made Zelda’s tears spill over.

“I’m… not… good… at this,” Zelda sobbed. “You need… to come… home!”

“Darling, what’s happened?” Hilda asked, bemused. “Surely it can’t be as bad as it seems.”

“I was late picking her up from school,” Zelda said, and she knew she was whimpering but couldn’t bring herself to care, “and then I had no idea what to say to her on the walk home. I made the macaroni and cheese wrong, or so she said, and I burned the hotdogs which made the smoke alarm go off. Then she wouldn’t eat _anything_ during dinner, and we had this dreadful argument, and—” here, her voice broke as she dissolved into a new round of sobs.

“Oh, Zelda,” Hilda said, and the pure sympathy in her tone made Zelda feel simultaneously better and worse. “I’m sorry it’s been a difficult evening.”

“It’s been an unmitigated disaster,” Zelda said morbidly, then faltered. “I—she said that… that she h- _hates_ me, Hildy. After we argued I sent her to her room, and she said that she hated me.”

“Of course she did, Zelds,” Hilda soothed. “She’s six, you were punishing her, and it made her angry. She has feelings and emotions, same as we do, but she doesn’t _quite_ know how to go about expressing them yet.”

“What do I do, Hildy?” Zelda whispered. 

“Well,” Hilda said, her sigh crackling over the line, “you’re not going to like this, but first you’ll need to apologize—”

“ _I’m_ owed an apology as well—!”

“Yes, but—again—she’s six, Zelda,” Hilda said. “You’re nearing 600. One of you has to be the grown-up and do it first, and I don’t think it’s going to be the six-year-old.”  


“Fine,” Zelda said shortly, sniffling. “What else?”

“Stop worrying so much about doing everything exactly the way I do it, first of all,” Hilda said. “You’re not me, and Sabrina knows it. She doesn’t want you to be another version of me; she just wants you to be yourself. And don’t be afraid to have fun and relax the rules a bit; it’s just a weekend, and the two of you hardly ever get to spend this much time together.”

“I’m not very… adept at having fun, Hildy.”

“You’re more fun than you think,” Hilda said confidently. “And Sabrina adores you.”

“She adores _you_ ,” Zelda corrected.

“Zelda,” Hilda said, “how can you spend more than two minutes with that girl and not see how much she loves you?”

~~~

Sabrina’s bedroom door was cracked open, but Zelda still knocked on it quietly. “Can I come in, Sabrina?” she asked softly.

Sabrina lay on her bed, somberly reading _The Velveteen Rabbit_. Her face was tear-streaked but her eyes were dry, and she looked at Zelda warily. “I thought I was being punished,” she said.

“No dear, you’re not,” Zelda said, sitting down on the bed and gracing a hand over Sabrina’s hair. “I came up to apologize. I’m sorry I didn’t mix the cheese in right, forgot and then burned the hot dogs, and especially for losing my temper, and I hope you can forgive me.”

Sabrina wrapped her arms around Zelda’s neck and pressed her warm cheek against Zelda’s own. “Of course I forgive you, Auntie Zee,” she said.

Before Zelda could think of how to phrase the next bit firmly but kindly, Sabrina spoke up. “And I’m sorry I pitched a fit. The macaroni and cheese wasn’t really that bad.”

Zelda sighed and raised a single, disbelieving eyebrow.

“Okay, it was actually gross,” Sabrina said, “but I’m still sorry about the fit.” Zelda laughed, a clear, ringing sound that warmed Sabrina all the way down to her toes.  
“Sabrina?” Zelda said, suddenly shy. “Would it—could I possibly read your book? Aloud to you, I mean.”

“Ooh, yes, please,” Sabrina said, moving onto Zelda’s lap and handing her the book. “Auntie Hilda always does voices,” she stage whispered directly into Zelda’s ear, “but you don’t have to if it’s too hard.”

“Duly noted,” Zelda said. “Where did you leave off?”

“Right here,” Sabrina said, pointing to a page, “when the boy and the rabbit are having summer together.”

“Excellent,” Zelda said, clearing her throat nervously. “Then let us, ah, begin.” She cleared her throat again as Sabrina looked up at her, expectant. 

“‘Near the house where they lived was a wood, and in the long June evenings the boy liked to go there after tea to play. He took the Velveteen Rabbit with him, and before he wandered off to pick flowers, or play at brigands among the trees, he always made the Rabbit a little nest somewhere among the bracken…’”

Zelda’s voice, softer and more musical than Sabrina had ever heard it, carried them through the tale of the little rabbit and the boy who loved him. Sabrina was a much better audience than Zelda imagined the average kindergartener would be; she listened with rapt attention, never once fidgeting or asking for anything. She simply sat quietly on Zelda’s lap and sucked her thumb—a habit Hilda and Zelda knew she needed to break, though neither of them had yet found the heart to explain this to her.

“…‘But he never knew that it really was his own Bunny, come back to look at the child who had first helped him to be Real.’”

“Isn’t that the best story?” Sabrina said happily as Zelda closed the book. “Oh, don’t cry, Auntie! I didn’t mean for it to make you sad!”

“Who’s crying?” Zelda sniffled, brushing tears from her eyes. “But, yes, as far as children’s literature goes, it was quite lovely.”

“Aunt Zee?”

“Yes, Sabrina?”

“I’m still really hungry,” she said. 

“So am I. But luckily for us,” Zelda said, eyes twinkling in a most un-Zelda like way, “I have a few dinner ideas that do _not_ involve macaroni and cheese at all.”

~~~

“Can I have more pizza, Auntie?”

“Mhmm; pepperoni or cheese?”

“Pepperoni please!” Sabrina said, happily accepting the gigantic, glistening slice that was offered to her on their second-best antique china. 

Sabrina and Zelda were both dressed in pajamas—Sabrina in a fleecy onesie decorated with her current favorite cartoon character, and Zelda in a plaid flannel ensemble she’d borrowed from Hilda’s bureau—and lying on the floor of the parlor. They’d pushed all the furniture against the walls and made a nest out of virtually every pillow and blanket in the house. 

Zelda, against what was likely her better judgment, was letting Sabrina paint her toenails glittery blue as they watched some animated film Sabrina had surely already seen 86,000 times. They’d braided each other’s hair about an hour ago—Zelda’s braids had been considerably more lopsided than Sabrina’s, so she graciously let her aunt take them out before they made unsightly bumps in her perfect waves—and, upon Sabrina’s insistence, were both wearing plastic, bejeweled princess crowns from Sabrina’s dress-up box.

“Do you like the movie, Auntie Zee?” Sabrina asked as she wiped a bit of smudged polish from Zelda’s foot.

“It’s tolerable,” Zelda allowed. “Though it’s depiction of piracy is _not_ historically accurate in the slightest, and that Pan boy is insufferable.”

“Were you a pirate, Auntie?”

“No, dear, very few women were,” Zelda said. “In fact, it was considered bad luck for women to be aboard pirate vessels at all.”

“It looks like so much fun,” Sabrina said wistfully.

Zelda snorted. “If you consider scurvy and misogynistic violence to be fun,” she said dryly, “then I suppose being a pirate would be a very jolly profession, yes.”

“What’s scurvy?”

“Something you don’t need to worry about,” Zelda said. 

“And what’s misog--misogyn--misogynistic?”

“Something you will need to worry about, but not for a few years. Oh Sabrina, be careful that you don’t spill that on the rug.”

“I’m being _very_ careful, Auntie, don’t worry,” Sabrina said, screwing the cap back onto the nail polish. “There! You look beautiful.”

“I certainly look...sparkly,” Zelda said, examining her toes with surprisingly well-hidden skepticism. 

“Can we have a pillow fight?” Sabrina asked, half-heartedly nudging Zelda with a green throw pillow.

Zelda picked up an especially light and fluffy sham from Hilda’s bedding and hit Sabrina’s head with it. “There,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching. “We had a pillow fight.”

Sabrina giggled and repositioned herself so her head was in Zelda’s lap. When Peter Pan ended, they made huge mugs of hot chocolate—Sabrina added approximately half a can of whipped cream to the top of hers—and Zelda even let Sabrina eat some of the cookie dough Hilda had left in the refrigerator in case they wanted to bake. Sabrina decreed that it was Zelda’s turn to choose a movie, and Zelda settled on _Bringing Up Baby_ ; after all, one is never too young to begin one’s cinematic education.

“This is the most fun ever,” Sabrina sighed contentedly when they were midway through Baby. “Can we stay up all night?” 

“Absolutely not,” Zelda said with no real rancor.

“Can we stay up past my bedtime?” Sabrina asked through a yawn.

“It’s already past your bedtime,” Zelda said as she ran her hands absently through Sabrina’s blonde curls.

“That’s cool,” Sabrina said, struggling to keep her eyes open. “I’m not gonna fall asleep, though.”

“Certainly not,” Zelda said softly as she continued to play with Sabrina’s hair. “Little Miss Bright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed.”

~~~

“Auntie Zee?”

“Yes, Sabrina?”

“Where am I?” Sabrina asked, sounding no more than 2% awake.

“Going upstairs to bed,” Zelda whispered, adjusting Sabrina in her arms. “It’s very late, sweetness.”

“But I’m not sleepy, Aunt Zee,” Sabrina said, eyes still shut.

“Well, I am,” Zelda said, “and I need my beauty rest.”

“I think you’re already the most beautiful in the world, Auntie.”

“Thank you, Sabrina, that’s very sweet of you to say.”

Just as Zelda was about to tuck Sabrina into her bed, Sabrina whined and buried her face in Zelda’s neck. “Sleep with you,” Sabrina begged. “Please?”

“Sabrina, you’re a… a big girl,” Zelda said, trying out a phrase she’d heard Hilda use on numerous occasions, “and big girls sleep in their own beds.”

“Am _not_ a big girl,” Sabrina insisted, clinging to Zelda like a baby monkey. “I’m a little girl.”

“Sabrina—” Zelda said, exasperated and exhausted, but Sabrina opened her eyes and gave Zelda the look Hilda called “the puppy dog face”.

“ _Please_?” Sabrina asked. 

Zelda rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. “Satan, give me strength,” she muttered. “Fine. Let’s go.”

“And _not_ Auntie Hilda’s bed,” Sabrina specified, groggy but firm. “In your same bed, with you.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Zelda sighed, tucking Sabrina carefully into her requested spot. 

She slid under the covers next to Sabrina. “Now, I don’t want you wriggling about like a little ferret all night,” she said, and Sabrina let out a half-asleep giggle. 

“I’d be a cute ferret though,” Sabrina said, nestling into Zelda’s side. “Will you tell me a story?”

“Sabrina, it’s well past the witching hour, and I don’t even know any stories that you’d enjoy,” Zelda murmured.

“Then tell me about all the fun things we can do tomorrow.”

“Hmm, well,” Zelda said, “we should sleep very late, and when we finally do wake up we’ll have breakfast in bed.”

“Can we have blueberry pancakes? Auntie Hilda taught me how to make them.”

“Yes, blueberry pancakes sound absolutely hell-sent. And after breakfast we can go outside in our pajamas—”

“ _in our pajamas_?!”

“—mhmm, and we’ll pick some flowers from the garden to make a lovely bouquet we can give your Aunt Hilda when she gets home.”

“We should pick her extra bluebell,” Sabrina mumbled as her breaths began to even and slow. “She loves bluebell.”

“We shall positively fill this house with bluebells,” Zelda said, then kissed Sabrina on her temple. “And then, if you’re very, very good, we can perhaps even have a few bites of Auntie Hilda’s special enchanted laughing toffee. We’ll be extremely giggly and marvelously undignified.”

“Auntie Zelda?”

“Yes, my darling girl?”

“I love you so very many lots,” Sabrina whispered, just before she finally drifted off.

“Oh, Sabrina,” Zelda murmured. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you're enjoying this series in the comments? I'm certainly enjoying writing it! I hope it's bringing y'all a bit of light & warmth & comfort during these dark & difficult times.


End file.
